Tea and Sympathy
by Fangirlin'it
Summary: Maybe on this path to find herself Regina hadn't realized Emma's apartment was journey's end. It wasn't her concern, but Emma couldn't help wanting it to be her problem. Sitting silently over sickeningly sweet tea she found herself giving in to a feeling she hadn't allowed herself to feel in… well, never.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own the show or these characters.

* * *

The concrete step was cold and hard under Regina, the water seeping through her once pressed slacks. Under her feet rainwater – or quite possibly the tears she had been shedding – gurgled past. She had been here for an hour, though Regina did not know this and did not care. Regina did not care about a lot of things and cared even less for people. She didn't want to feel, and the night chill slipping through the breaches of her coat and numbing her skin made sure of this.

Two pinpricks of salty perspiration down, a sob bitten back and Regina was curled in a fetal position on this very cold hard step. Whose doorstep it belonged to was not known and Regina didn't seem to pay any mind. This was her purpose; to become one with the rain, to mix poisonous tears with the pureness of what clouds had to offer. What would that produce? What did good and evil combine to make?

A door opened followed by a jingle of keys. There was scuffing of boots and a sharp intake of breath. Regina could have imagined the sounds over the thunderous rain and the rattle in her chest.

"Regina?"

At first Emma had mistaken the woman for a pile of garbage that had gotten thrown around in the storm. Then she realized bags of trash do not weep and shake uncontrollably. Or wear costly pleated slacks.

Regina felt the wind and the rain and the hair plastered like glue to her cheeks. She also felt the hand on her shoulder.

"Hey, Regina? What are you doing here?"

No answer. Just more shaking, this time from chapped hands.

"How about we get you inside? How does that sound?" Emma encouraged as if talking to a small child.

Regina sensed that she was being led up a stairway. It was a trying ordeal walking up a flight of stairs with stiff legs, but the dry atmosphere and the firm hold around her waist helped things along. When the apartment door closed they proceeded hip to hip to Emma's bedroom.

"You can dry off with this." A towel was placed on the mattress. "…It's clean," she added. The eye roll Emma was hoping for did not present itself. There was only a vacant expression. Regina made no move and continued to stare at the floor, holding her own body like a life preserver, so the blonde took the liberty of removing the soaked jacket.

"Um, I'm sure you can do the rest," Emma said, clearing her throat. Up until now these sequence of events had been easy, perhaps automatic. Now things were a bit more complicated than Emma would like to admit. "These should fit you," a pair of sweatpants fell beside the towel, "and you can take your pick of sweatshirts. There's one from every major city I've ever called home," she chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

A sniffle remained as much of a response as Emma was going to get.

* * *

A pale blue mug with vertical grooves was placed in front of Regina. It was steaming and smelled of what should be chamomile. Though currently indifferent to what she put in her system her nose wrinkled at such cheapness.

"I know it's not apple cider," Emma said, catching the flash of distaste, "but frankly I don't think my version of the stuff could compare to yours." She nursed her own cup of tea and after taking her first sip she cringed. The bottle of honey was grasped, turned upside down and squeezed liberally over the mug. She took a sip and hummed pleasantly to the taste of its clover sweetness. Her eyes darted every which way, looking for anything to fix a stare to, anywhere but the other woman. Unable to stand the next few minutes of awkward silence Emma started, "So," biting her lip the stoneware rang out the clinking of a nail, "you had kind of a bad day?"

Regina just took in a ragged breath and let it out. The mug remained untouched.

"Hmm." Emma could see something was bothering the woman, but was unsure how to proceed. Of course, this wasn't her problem. It wasn't like Emma had asked Regina to come crying to her doorstep. And it wasn't as if they were friends. Discussion between them was limited to Henry alone and that subject of conversation hadn't come up in days – for good reason. With the exception of that day at the mine Regina never came to her for anything and Emma didn't need her bullshit detector to know the woman was uncomfortable with admitting when she needed help. Maybe on this path to find herself Regina hadn't realized Emma's apartment was journey's end. It wasn't her concern, but Emma couldn't help _wanting_ it to be her problem. Sitting silently over sickeningly sweet tea, she found herself giving in to a feeling she hadn't allowed herself to feel in… well, never.

"It's broken."

Emma perked up in her chair. "What's broken?"

"When he was four he made an art project. It was a mold of his hand print painted in red." Regina frowned at the memory as if she couldn't believe it, as if it were too good to be true. "Every time I look at it I'm reminded of how small he used to be, how tiny his fingers were, so delicate and fragile… like the mold. Today it slipped from my own hands and broke into pieces," Regina's voice shook while the tears returned, "so many little pieces. So many pieces that will never be together."

Emma was at a loss for words. She couldn't even begin to understand what Regina was feeling. The same blood may be flowing through her and her son's veins but biological connection was nothing compared to the bond Regina shared with him. If Henry had made something for Emma she would have treasured it to the end of her days. It would have been a most prized keepsake that if ever to break or go missing would result in the display before the blonde, of a woman crying into a mug of tea. But Emma knew this wasn't about a broken memento. Not by a long shot.

"I held it too hard," Regina explained. "That's why it slipped. I loved it too much, I held on too hard and somehow…" a hand clamped to her mouth and she closed her eyes. A tear dropped. She took her hand from her mouth and ran it through her hair. "Maybe it was never meant to be in my hands in the first place."

Well shit, Emma thought. Everything in her wanted to scream, 'I told you so' but the glistening brown eyes told her that the message had been received quite some ago. The punishment was reaped and the damage was now becoming a haunting reality to Regina now.

"I miss him," whispered Regina. She continued to stare vaguely at the table. Her eyes closed then at a thought. She intended to say the next words in her mind but they inevitably came from her heart and out through her lips. "I want my son back," she said. "I want his love back. Henry gave it to me long ago when he didn't know who I was. He gave it when he thought I was innocent, when we were a family." Her throat closed unexpectedly. She swallowed hard. "I don't know who I am without him."

Tentatively, Emma placed her hand beside the brunette's. There was no contact yet the hand was close enough to ease the loneliness, an assurance that warmth was there when desired. "Maybe this is good for you." Emma heard the sharp intake of breath and quickly explained. "I mean, with Henry living here this is a time when you can figure out who you are. You don't need him to do that. You were someone even before he came into your life. Maybe the best place to start is the beginning, where it all started for you. Wherever that may be."

"Where it all started," Regina repeated, emitting a low chuckle. A shadow passed over her as she shook her head. "Nothing good can come from drudging up that past. Whoever I was before…" a finger went absently to her top lip, tracing the memory of a severe penalty, "… there's no going back to that kind of innocence."

"I think you owe it to yourself to try. Henry is giving you a second chance. We all are – well, most of us anyway."

For the first time that night their eyes met. Something clicked in Regina which prompted her to take in her surroundings. Decaying brick walls, the dreadful décor, a rickety stairway… what in the hell was she doing there? Am I intoxicated? she thought. Regina's hand went to a rapidly beating heart. Her fingers grazed over roughhewn fabric emblazoned with 'I heart Chicago.' This was not her shirt. These were not her pants. Emma appeared in her narrowing vision. What in the hell went on here? came the unpleasant thought.

Emma reached out a hand to calm the woman. Regina reeled back like she had been offered a bleeding heart. A chair clattered to the floor. The door slammed shut behind the traumatized brunette.

* * *

Regina kept walking unimpeded by the storm. The sidewalk was beset with puddles, the wind gusted against her body, and streaming rain pelting her face, yet her pace never faltered. She saw the concrete below her feet and smelled the wet soil and grass, but the only thing she heard was a pounding in her ears thanks to the migraine that had taken hold of her.

The squelch of tires broke through the hammering, followed by the penetrating cry of her name.

"Regina!"

One hand on the wheel the sheriff leaned down to peer out the passenger window. She shouted over thunderous rain, "Regina, let me drive you home!"

She stopped walking. The view ahead continued to hold her foggy gaze. There was nothing there of course but darkness and disappointment.

"Please? If you don't get in you'll catch a cold."

Regina got in the car. Hands rubbed together in the warmth of the cruiser causing an inadvertent sigh to let loose. She refused to look at the woman and stated through jittering teeth, "You don't have to save everyone, Sheriff."

* * *

There was a squawk from the squad car radio. _"Alert! Domestic disturbance reported at 503 Spinster Court. Any officers in the area please call in."_

Emma picked up the receiver. "Hey, Ruby, you know I'm the only officer in this town, right?"

_"I know, but I've always wanted to say that. After covering some of your night watches I haven't gotten a single distress signal."_

Emma rolled her eyes while Regina couldn't help to suppress a chortle. "Distress signal? Ruby, you're not Jim Gordon, and last time I checked Henry's book was not written by George R.R. Martin. The proper term is night _shift_ not night _watch_."

_"Whatever. Are you going to check out the complaint or not, Sheriff?"_

Emma sighed and looked over at her passenger. Regina posture was stiff, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The blonde knew this was the last place Regina wanted to be after crying her heart out just minutes earlier. She probably just wanted to go home. "Do you mind?" she asked. "I'll be quick about it."

"By all means. You _are_ the sheriff."

There was slight acid behind the reply, a vague resemblance to the mayoral wit that Emma suddenly felt herself missing. "Okay, but don't be all snippy." Emma allowed herself to grin. "I know you've been dying to ride with the sirens on."

Regina rolled her eyes. "Hardly."

The grin only widened.

* * *

Emma slipped into the front seat of her squad car and sighed. "She didn't even want to press charges. You'd think she would realize when enough is enough. Bastard may not have hit her but he certainly abuses her psychologically. There's only so many chances you can give a –"

Emma turned to find the brunette slouched in her seat, eyes closed and breathing quietly. Her head lay on the headrest and turned towards the driver's side. Emma frowned and bit her lower lip, weighing the consequences of what she desperately wanted to do. Without another thought her right hand went out to brush a strand of hair from Regina's face. A lightness of heart brought on by the stillness of the moment eased any concerns Emma had about this woman's absolution.

She had never made a habit of watching people sleep, not her lovers or the few friends in life she had. The only person who was lucky enough to sleep under the watchful eyes of this blonde was her son… and now his adoptive mother. This was the most peaceful she had been all night. In fact, it was the most calm she had ever seen Regina. With a slant of her head and a smile forming on her lips Emma couldn't help but think how good 'serene' looked on the woman.

Before pulling onto the road she turned up the heat in the car. They drove home, Regina asleep and Emma driving with one hand reassuringly close to the brunette's thigh.

* * *

After fishing the keys from the purse Emma unlocked the front door. She let herself in along with the sleeping woman in her arms. It was dark, but Emma had been a frequent enough guest to know the layout. She looked to her left and then to her right. A frown crossed her face. She was now at a crossroads.

Emma felt the weight in her arms and calculated the length of the winding staircase. Her legs begged for an alternative. Her eyes shifted to the den and from the cobwebs of her memory a plush white couch arose. She also remembered how stiff those sofa arms were.

"I may be crossing a line but your neck will thank me later," she muttered as she took the stairs one at a time.

So many rules were being broken; stealing Regina's keys and entering her house without permission, not kicking off her boots at the door, further trespassing by scaling the polished wood staircase up to the second floor. Oh, and lest Emma forget she could add carrying the woman to the list, though the former mayor would most likely classify that as sexual assault. A hundred different affronts ran through her mind and all of them made her cringe. At one point, halfway up the staircase and breathing laboriously, she considered turning back. It was the soft, even breathing from below that kept her going. Consequences be damned she would get this broken woman to a proper bed.

Two steps from the top there was a dull thud. The back of Regina's head bumped the banister. "Shit! Sorry!" the blonde hissed quietly.

The casualty merely grunted and buried deeper to Emma's chest. She inhaled sharply at the nudging of a nose to her breast. A small smile that otherwise wouldn't have been witnessed by the sleeping brunette came to Emma's lips. It was motivation enough to make the rest of the trip.

* * *

Regina almost moaned under the sheets tucked snugly to her body. Her clothes were still on, that she knew with eyes closed. Wiggling her toes they did not strain against her fashionable heels and Regina said a silent prayer of thanks. She shifted further under the covers and breathed in the comforter brushing against her nose. It smelled like home sweet home, and despite the crying and the embarrassing display of vulnerability she smiled.

Even on the most relaxing of nights she couldn't find the time to get so comfortable under the sheets. She was pretty sure during her childhood her own mother hadn't even taken the pains to settle her in. Regardless of who did the tucking it felt nice to be in her bed after such a trying day, though she did not expect to do so with company present.

Her eyes peeked hesitantly from over the comforter to find the sheriff fast asleep. In a corner of the bedroom she was slouched on a chair, one arm dangling over the armrest and the other hand supporting her head. From the bed Regina could see the woman breathing through a slightly agape mouth, a nose twitching occasionally as she dreamt. It was unexpected. The few times she had wanted Emma to stick around she hadn't and the _many_ times she desired her absence Emma remained. It was infuriating the way this woman did everything possible to thwart her and went about the exact opposite of what she wanted. Regina couldn't tell if this propensity to contradict was purposeful or just in her nature. She wondered especially after the events of this night.

Glaring at the blonde, Regina's fingers reached to massage the lump forming from her head's contact with the railing. The woman could pack a punch that much was for sure, but apparently when it came to transporting a healthy, prim, 30-something up a few flights of stairs it's just _too_ demanding. What a stress on those runner's thighs! How saddening for those biceps! God help any slumbering child the woman had to carry up the stairs. Regina would probably have to have social services on speed dial – or she could just ream the klutz out herself (which would be a much more satisfying option). Her chest clinched at such a ridiculous thought. That she and Emma would _ever_ become a family unit… in the same house... sharing a son... it shouldn't have crossed her mind.

But it did.

Draped over the occupied sofa was a jacket. Emma had fallen asleep in her typical tank top and tight jeans. Regina let her eyes trail over the arms she had previously worshiped (in sarcasm of course). Even in the dark her toned muscles could be made out. Regina imagined them flexing under her weight when the two had stumbled out of the city hall fire, when they had lifted her up in a jail cell, and then as they curled around her body on up to the second floor of her house. Biting her lip she decided to push herself up on her elbows to get a more comprehensive view. Just as appreciation was assumed, Emma stirred.

Stifling a gasp, Regina flew back under the covers. She froze and held her breath. Mortified, Regina squeezed her eyes shut, hoping her inappropriate behavior had gone unnoticed. There was some incoherent mumbling which made way for soft breathing.

It was quite comforting, the sound of another sleeper. It must be one of those things taken for granted. Emma's breathing was slow and steady, rhythmic, and… beautiful? Could breathing even be described in terms of desirability? However described it was nice and Regina found herself wondering if her own breathing was similar. Being a life-long troubled sleeper it was probably about as erratic and tremulous as her nightmares.

Somewhere between a study into her own breathing rate and thoughts of a tank top Regina sank into the pillow. Her eyes closed to the melody of beautiful, quiet breaths.

For the first time in years Regina was able to sleep in peace.

* * *

It could have been a dream; in fact, there was no other explanation for it. In the foggy confines of Emma's dreamlike state she thought she heard the brunette calling her to bed. It wasn't voiced as an order because it had been asked with soft, frail eyes. Such an innocent request as this could not be turned down.

As with all dreams one thing led to another. One moment she was slouched on the sofa and the next she was under the bedclothes next to a certain former mayor. It was warm and inviting. They didn't touch, they didn't speak. There was no contact, yet Emma felt something. There was no exchange of words, but words were all that flew through Emma's mind. Like most of her dreams it shouldn't have meant anything.

But it did.

At sunrise a blonde woke up next to a brunette. Regina lay nestled to the woman's side with Emma's aching arm around her. Regina felt like warm, solid reality and Emma realized it had not been a dream.

For the first time in years Emma didn't feel alone in the world.


End file.
